The Fallen
by Savage Daz
Summary: Another Macavity story that begins with misery and will more than likely end the same way. Plato-centric. Rating is subject to change.
1. Chapter 1

Finally, a real story from me! Haha. This has been swimming 'round in my head for a very long time. Basically it's a bunch of my ideas slapped hastily together. It's one of those Macavity theory stories, and Plato is the star. Later on, Demeter will be making a very big entrance, and she won't leave. She. Won't. Leave(This will turn into Plato/Demeter). I don't want to say anything else for fear of spoiling my great ideas. If you're confused, let me know and I'll clarify it in the next chapter.

Anyways, this will be sort of a Jellicle High sort of thing. In my mind's eye, they are humanoid, but they have fur and cat ears and cat tails. Just like the movie.

A.N. : Gestation period (how long they're preggers)for my jellicles is about six months. No particular reason, except for that I didn't want to make it nine months, and I didn't want it to be as short as 65 days, which is the typical feline gestation.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The queen tilted her head back and uttered a long, low moan as she reached the final stages of labor. In a matter of minutes, the children inside of her would come out to face the world, vulnerable and ill-prepared for the misery sure to await them. She felt darkness at the corners of her vision and nearly swooned.

A few feet away, Macavity was crouched on the concrete floor, watching her intently as her legs twisted in the sheets of the filthy, blood-smeared mattress that she was lying on. A hunch-backed, mousy servant of his busied itself around her, dabbing at her forehead with a damp cloth and attempting to keep her legs straightened out to see the progress of the kits. His heirs. Macavity chuckled with satisfaction, and the noise caused the unfortunate queen to turn her head and look at him. Her green eyes were almost black, and flashed with hatred towards him. He merely smiled.

Soleil knew she was dying. She wouldn't die a martyr, a saint like she had always dreamed of. Instead, she would die in service to the enemy, practically handing his assured future over to him. As another contraction wracked her thin frame, she had never hated anyone as much as she did in that moment. She hated the children that had burdened her; she saw them only as demon spawn that had stolen her life. More than anything, she hated this amused, hateful creature watching her bleed her life away; this spawn of Satan who had kidnapped her one dark night and forced himself upon her, and keeping her locked away in this filthy hovel for the past six months as she slowly grew heavier with his spawn.

Now her time had come. Soleil felt an immense pressure, and suddenly a tiny kit was lying before her. The servant scooped it up and cleaned it off, pronouncing it as a boy. Macavity held him for a proper moment before handing him back to the servant, who tried to show him to his mother. She hardly glanced at him for a moment before screeching and pushing him away, half in pain of the second kit pushing its way out and half out of the fear that pulsed through her when she saw the big, dark eyes staring at her and the tell-tale sign of Macavity – a wild streak of red hair on his matted head. He hardly made a peep as he was handed off to someone else who stood by, waiting for the second child.

The second of twins made a bigger entrance than his brother, arriving with a loud wail as soon as his lungs filled with enough air. He, too, had red in his hair, but it was less pronounced than his brother's, making him secondary heir. He would live his entire life in his brother's shadow. He, too, was given to his father, and, again, the servant attempted to show him to Soleil. She waved him off vaguely, her eyes fluttering. The darkness that was at the corners of her vision spread slowly, and she finally succumbed to it. Her head fell back, and she was still.

The mousy servant approached Macavity, who was watching the still body of the mother of his children. Tentatively, he asked if his Lord had names for his sons.

Macavity pursed his lips, thinking, "Well, the eldest is to be Zane, like my father. The younger, well, you can name him whatever the hell you want, Mathis. I haven't the time for this nonsense." And with that, he strode off to attend to more pressing matters than the name of his second son.

The mousy servant, Mathis, looked down at the still squalling infant in his arms and offered it a finger to suck on as he and the other servant carried the two heirs down to the nursery that had been laid out for them. They had tried to get input from Soleil while she was pregnant as to how she wanted the layout to be, but she never seemed interested, ignoring them completely sometimes. It's as though she knew that she was going to die, and therefore wasn't interested.

They placed the two infants in the cribs that had been built for them, and a few servants crowded around the crib of the younger twin, trying to decide on what to name it.

"We could always named it Deuteronomy, as a joke," This idea was greeted with instant denial.

"Wot 'bout Franz? Tha's me pa's name."

"Nah, if we're gonna name the son of Macavity anything, it should be something with an edge to it."

"He migh' end up bein' pretty smart. Why don't we name him Socrates or the like?"

"You don' even know who the bloody 'ell Socrates is!"

"I knows that 'e's smart. Tha's more'n I can say 'bout you."

"Shut up, the lot of you. He doesn't look like he's going to be very smart. Look at him, the stupid little thing. Given who his parents are, it's no wonder. He's still crying, the little bugger."

"Shaddup! He kin prob'ly understand you all, dafties. Iffn he's gon' be second in charge, and iffn you really want him to be smart, let's call him Plato."

"Wot's second in command got to do with anyfing?"

"Are you an idiot? He's the second born. Look at that hair. His brudder's hair is bright red. That means he's to be Macavity. This 'un's only got a bit of red, so he's the second heir. The second best. The second in command. That's sorta what Plato did. For Socrates. You know."

"Nah, it warn't Socrates, were it? You've got your philophosers mixed up."

"Philosophers, idiot. And no, I don't. I don't know."

"Well, Plato'll have to do for now. We're not meant to be in here, anyways. None 'scept Mathis. Let's go, you old gossiping spinsters."

The group of servants trooped out with the exception of Mathis. He stared down at the tiny newborn, who stared back with the dark, wise eyes of children. He felt as though the child were somehow calling out to him, putting his trust in him and begging him to love him. Mathis knew that he wasn't capable of love, but he also knew that Macavity wouldn't pay proper attention to his sons until they were of age to begin their training. He vowed at that moment to be their caretaker until then.

Unaware of their future devoid of any hope or paternal love, the two tiny boys slept, exhausted from their efforts to enter the world while their makeshift father watched over them, his watery eyes hardly blinking. Their real father went out and assassinated an official, while their mother was carelessly covered in a makeshift coffin, really a rough homespun sack, and dumped into a hastily dug, unmarked grave. As soon as she had completed her task, the world forgot about her.

And so begins another tale of woe and misery.

TBC

Please review and let me know what you think.


	2. Chapter 2

I like to think of Macavity as some sort of cat mafia (haha), and being the head Mafioso or boss, he works with other cats involved in black market deals, and can be quite civil when it suits his purposes. He doesn't have "friends", per say - acquaintances would probably be a better word for it. Of course, with "goody-goodies" like the Jellicles, he's not quite so civil. And there's probably some ancient history going on there, too.

Anyway. Sorry this is about eleven months overdue, and not very long. However, I took a little detour away from the Cats fandom and found myself in the nu!Star Trek fandom (Chulu ftw) for a really long time. I had no idea how to continue it anyways, but I was struck with a tentative idea a little while ago, and we'll see how this goes. If anyone's interested in contributing, please let me know - I could use all the help I can get.

Well, I hope that this chapter isn't too different from the last one, seeing as how it's been quite a long time since I've written in this fandom (or at all, really). Let me know if it seems at all disjunct - after this chapter, that shouldn't happen anymore, as I plan on (hopefully) updating this more regularly.

"In Greek mythology Hecate was a goddess associated with witchcraft, tombs, demons and the underworld."

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Barely two months had passed since the birth of Macavity's kits, and word had quickly spread. Dignitaries from the four corners of London who were involved in various business deals with the Napoleon of Crime sent gifts for the newborns, the bravest of those, including the like of Griddlebone, actually stopped by the Lair, wanting to see the kits for themselves. Macavity, of course, hated every minute of it, and refused to see any visitors, commanding that Mathis take care of whoever tried to invade his precious privacy.

There was only one visitor allowed into his inner chambers.

Hecate, the witch's cat, hobbled into the Lair, glaring out of her good eye at any henchcat who tried to get in her way. Her grey fur was matted and snarled, and her breath was almost as foul as her disposition. The only reason Macavity tolerated her was her uncanny ability to read the future. She had saved his life several times: when there was an impending attack, when a business partner defected, and even when the Jellicles felt like showing some backbone for a change. Such an incident had occurred a few months before, after he had kidnapped Soleil, a Jellicle Queen. She had been the Railway Cat's mate; he had been in the outfit that had come to try and rescue her. Macavity looked back on that particular day with satisfaction - multiple Jellicle Toms had been killed in the attempts to return Soleil to the Junkyard - which, of course, were entirely unsuccessful. As it were, if it could ever be said that Macavity actually trusted someone, it would be the Witch Cat.

"Where is he?" Hecate shrieked, kicking one persistent henchcat firmly in the crotch. The rest of them tripped over themselves to avoid her, backing away quickly. "Where is Macavity?!" The timbre of her voice grew even more shrill and unrelenting.

Mathis darted forward, bowing deeply to appease the old Queen's ego. "My dear Lady Hecate. You are looking lovelier by the day." She sniffed, impressed despite herself, and offered her paw, which Mathis took in his own, gratefully. At least he didn't have to kiss it, this time.

"I am here to see the newborn Princes, and to decide their fate in this world. Now show me to the King's quarters." She chuckled at her own joke. Mathis, who couldn't find the humor, smiled to accommodate her before leading her to his Lord's private wing.

The doors to Macavity's innermost chamber burst open as Hecate strode in. The Mystery Cat was lying on his bed, entangled in a nameless tabby's arms. The young Queen squealed and pulled the blankets up to her neck, obviously mortified, but Macavity took it in stride, stretching briefly before hopping off of the large four-poster, a smirk etched onto his fierce features. They exchanged bows, and Macavity took the gnarled paw in his hand, pressing a gentle kiss to the top. Hecate tittered, which came out as more of a throaty grunt.

"Macavity, you old flatterer, you," She said teasingly.

He merely winked, replying, "You know me all too well, my dear Lady. I trust you have heard the news?"

The Witch-Cat bent her head in acquiescence, "Indeed, I was informed just this morning. Now where are the whelps? I'd like to see them."

Macavity nodded to Mathis, who slipped out a side door. The nursery was down the hallway, and the door was locked. There were only two keys, and he had one of them hanging around his neck. Quickly, he unlocked the door, creeping inside. The room was dimly lit, but he could see both of the tiny tomkits awake and watching him from their cribs. In the two months since their birth, both boys had grown considerably, now able to stand and crawl about on their own. They were both fiercely independent, much like their father, and hardly appreciated when the females came to visit. They would coo over them, ruffling their hair and pinching their cheeks. They both preferred the company of Mathis, who rarely held them, simply sitting quietly and watching them with a steely gaze.

He turned to the kit nearest, the younger of the two. Plato looked up at him evenly, his ginger and brown head fur mussed and flat on one side from sleep. Rumor had it that Macavity had been an exceptionally solemn and mature kitten, learning to run and spin much more quickly than his brothers. Both of the twins had begun to grow and advance at a rather early age, but Plato was the more adventurous of the two, not content to sit and observe as his brother was.

The kitten interrupted his reverie by making an impatient noise and reaching out for him, wanting out of the crib. He lifted the kit up, holding him while turning to reach his brother. Zane made no noise as he approached, staring up at him. For a moment, his eyes shifted over to his twin brother's, and they stared each other down. Mathis lifted him up, and balancing one on each hip, turned and crept back to the main chamber.

The Queen that had originally been occupying his Lord's time was missing; Mathis worried for a moment at Hecate's smug smirk, but she was already reaching for the older of the twins. Zane squirmed in her iron grip, reaching back for Mathis.

"Your heir, I presume?" She gazed into the kitten's eyes, and he went suddenly and frightfully still as her eyes narrowed, probing deeper and deeper into his mind. Macavity looked on, appearing to be unusually tense, and almost nervous.

The room was eerily silent for a long moment, and then Hecate broke eye contact, turning to look at the Napoleon of Crime with a broad leer on her face. Something akin to relief and pride broke through the cloud of tension forming on Macavity's brow.

"Aye, he will make a fine heir for you, my Lord," She exclaimed, turning to look back at the kitten, whose eyes were wide with fear, and a hint of fascination, "He doesn't look it now, and he's quite shy, but he's an observer, that's for sure. He's already seen a lot in his short time. He will be very successful in your stead, earning much reverence and money for the Macavity name." Primly, she handed the kitten back to Mathis, already reaching for the younger.

Her investigation of this one's mind lasted no more than a brief moment before she shrieked loudly, dropping him abruptly. Plato landed on the ground with a pained mew, scooting backwards quickly to hide behind Mathis' legs. Hecate stared down at him, her thin chest heaving. Unwittingly, tears had sprung up in her eyes, wide as saucers. Macavity stepped forward, claws partially unsheathed, while Mathis leaned forward slightly, teeth bared, all of his thoughts focused on protecting the kits.

"What is the meaning behind this, Witch Cat?" He growled, torn between glaring at the cowering kitten or the old, trembling Queen.

She raised one arm, pointing a single gnarled claw down at the kitten, her voice deepening with foreboding, "This child will be the death of us all! I saw it in his eyes, plain as day!" She turned to Macavity, "Before his third birthday, I swear to you that this Tom will murder you. I have seen it with my own eyes." Macavity's eyes widened, and he turned to stare at the tiny kit, questions forming in his eyes. They were quickly quelled by a fierce hatred by the Witch's next words.

"With one fell swoop, this child with assassinate you, bringing down your throne, your power, and your very life. He is as Death to all Cats of the Underworld, especially those who follow your Lordship. _Confutatis maledictis, Flammis acribus addictis,_" She trailed off, not finishing her thought, staring in horror at this tiny kitten who had just been blamed for the downfall of an empire.

Macavity could never doubt the Witch's words. Feeling the bloodlust beginning to overwhelm him, he lunged forward, claws unsheathed, prepared to strike his son on the spot. However, something stayed his hand - some power protected this kit from his claws.

Speaking quietly, he said, "Mathis, get this traitor out of my sight. Drown him, slit his throat, do whatever you have to do. I want him dead. You can see yourself out," He hissed to the indignant Witch. Without another word, he turned away, claws reflexively twitching. He needed to spill the blood of innocents to satisfy the blood lust building behind his eyes.

Mathis bowed low, dismissing himself. Both twins stared up at him with identical wide, dark eyes, and he felt his old heart quietly begin to break as he left Zane with a nursemaid. Clutching Plato close, who didn't complain, for once, he stole out of a side exit, creeping through alleyways until he reached the creek.

However, the moment he kneeled by the water, staring down at his reflection, he saw the kitten's terrified face reflected as well, and he knew that he couldn't do it. He wasn't like Macavity - he couldn't kill innocents, especially this one. Plato had attached himself, unbidden, to the old Tom's heart. He reminded him of his own kittens that he had lost so long ago…

And suddenly, in that instant, he knew exactly what to do.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Night was swiftly falling in the Jellicle Junkyard, and the kittens were being herded off to bed. Some of the older kittens, nearly Toms, in fact, refused to obey their sitter's pleas, wanting to stay out and play in the twilight longer. Munkustrap, the eldest son of Old Deuteronomy, was currently pinning Alonzo, a slightly younger cat, to the ground, making him squeal, "Uncle, Uncle!" over and over again.

"Boys, I won't tell you again, for the last time, I -" Jellylorum was exhausted. Between the rascal tomkits and her own full term litter set to arrive any day now, she could barely keep up. It wouldn't normally have been so bad, except that Jennyanydots was still bedridden after her last disastrous attempt to have a litter of kittens. Not a single one had survived the difficult pregnancy, and the Gumbie Cat had barely survived as it were. It had been a difficult season, and Jellylorum, although saddened by the outcome, naturally, was rather glad to see the kitten season passing them by. She was getting rather old to be having kittens, but many in her generation had been recent victims to Macavity's recent attacks. She shuddered as she remembered some of their most beloved Jellicles who had fallen prey to the evil cat: Chryses, Soleil, and Aoide, to name only a few.

Her sad reverie was interrupted by the arrival of Skimbleshanks. The tomkits in question who had been wrestling raced over to greet the Railway Cat. He laughed softly as they jumped on him, each asking him questions simultaneously. Jellylorum smiled as she slowly made her way over. It had been eight months since his mate, Soleil, had gone missing. They had learnt about her abduction by Macavity a few months later, and the Tribe had considered her good and dead. Skimbleshanks was devastated by the loss, but with the help of some of his favorite kittens, had slowly overcome the loss.

Munkustrap was the first to notice him, a strange cat lurking in the shadows. He fell silent, staring. Alonzo soon noticed as well, fur bristling. The Railway Cat turned to see the newcomer, and upon recognizing him, immediately sent Jellylorum into her den with the tomkits. When they were safely hidden away, he turned back, paws clenched.

"Mathis," He greeted him cordially but coldly, remembering all too well where this cat's loyalties lie. The mongrel cat nodded in greeting.

"Skimbleshanks, I have a request to make of you." The Railway Cat's eyebrow arched, and he barked out a humorless laugh.

"You, you have a request to make of _me_? Shouldn't I be the one asking you a few things, hm? For example, where can I find your 'master', so I can lay my claws upon him myself and kill him?" Mathis' brow furrowed in response.

"I'll let that slide, since you're on your own territory. But this is rather important. You owe me, remember? I saved your skin; you would have been dead that day."

"I wish you didn't save my life," Skimbleshanks snarled, his fur bristling, "I wish I had died that day. What's life worth now, if I don't have Soleil to share it with?" Mathis' ears flattened, and he stepped out of the shadows for the first time, displaying his little bundle. The Railway Cat could only gape at the kitten clinging to his temporary father.

"This is Soleil's kitten, and he is in great peril. His name is Plato, and he's roughly two months old. The safest place for him is in this 'Yard, away from Macavity. Understand this: my Lord expects me to kill him, to kill his son." Skimbleshanks' fur bristled even more fiercely when he realized exactly what Macavity had done to his mate, but Mathis paid him no mind, continuing on in a low voice, "He is an innocent, Skimbleshanks. Please. You must help him. He is certainly more Soleil's son than he is Macavity's, a father who wants nothing more than to see him dead." He didn't mention the fact that Soleil, in her brief moments of motherhood, didn't want anything to do with him, either.

Skimbleshanks was staring down at the kitten who gazed back, looking less afraid and more like he was trying to intimidate the larger cat. After a long moment, the Railway Cat sighed, his shoulders slumping.

"I can't promise I'll be able to take care of him, but he can stay here." Mathis sighed, his shoulders visibly relaxing in relief. Quickly he deposited the kitten in Skimbleshanks' arms, who held him out at arm's length. The kitten twisted around, trying to get back to Mathis, but he had already disappeared into the shadows. Plato whimpered once, squirming in this unfamiliar cat's grasp, but Skimbleshanks didn't let go, merely sighing and turning back to trudge into his den, a new burden in his arms and on his shoulders.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

"Confutatis maledictis, Flammis acribus addictis" roughly translates to "When the accursed have been confounded, And given over to the bitter flames,".


End file.
